The White City (30 page)

Ray could hear from the long applause that the Wild West performance was ending. “That’s our cue, lads and lasses,” the Pirate Queen said. One by one the pirates stood, holstered weapons, and headed for the door. Many of them stopped to shake hands with Ray, as well as with Conker and Jolie and Si, offering well wishes and encouragement.

Nel opened the door, and the pirates filed out onto the balcony. As the group crowded the doorway, Redfeather and Marisol came to say their goodbyes. Redfeather took the copper from around his neck and slipped it over Ray’s head. “You might need it,” he said, and then embraced Ray. “We are Ramblers,” he whispered into Ray’s ear before releasing him.
Marisol approached Ray. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. Then she turned back to Redfeather, taking his hand before leaving.

The door closed. Ray was alone with Jolie, Si, and Conker.

As the next hour passed, Conker pried away the final boards to open a hole in the coliseum’s roof. The four climbed through and stood on the flat, circular rooftop with the stars hovering above them. Si carried a coil of rope and set off across the roof, away from the others. Ray followed Conker and Jolie to the edge, where the raw plank siding of the exterior continued another few feet higher to make a low wall.

Below, the fence had been knocked down, and surrounding the encampment was now a wall of agents in black suits and bowler hats, each holding rifles and pistols. More were filing in from the Midway.

“How many do you reckon that is?” Conker asked. “A hundred fifty?”

Ray exhaled slowly. “Maybe more.”

“Too many,” Jolie said.

Between the Gog’s army and the coliseum, the scant band of pirates stood in a cluster. The
Snapdragon
’s crew looked hopelessly few compared to the looming army of agents. Ray spotted the Pirate Queen’s flowing red hair at the front of the group. She drew back her coat to place her hands on the arsenal belted around her waist. Nel stood beside her, tall and jaunty. Redfeather had his tomahawk against his leg, and Marisol held his bow at her side, an arrow already notched. Toward the middle of the group, Big Jimmie, disguised as Conker, towered over the other pirates, and Ray spied Gilley
and Hobnob and Piglet beside him. From where Ray watched, the costumes were convincing.

Buffalo Bill emerged from the coliseum, followed by a contingent of a dozen men—cowboys, including Jasper and some of the elder Sioux, although Ray noticed Iron Tail wasn’t among them.

Across the yard, a few of the agents toward the center of the formation stepped aside. A tall figure strode forward. He wore a silk stovepipe hat and a suit of black and green. With each step of his gleaming black boots, he brought an ebony walking stick to the ground. The Gog stopped when he was a few yards in front of his men, nearly a hundred yards separating him from Nel and the pirates. Nel had his toby in his hands, untying its string.

“I thought you said no harm would come to my Wild West show!” Cody bellowed.

“And none will, Mister Cody, if you hand over the Ramblers as you agreed,” Mister Grevol said, touching a hand politely to his coal-black hat.

Cody waved at the wall of agents. “You’ve brought a gun to a knife fight, as they say, Grevol.”

“I mean to dissuade you and your men from interfering, Mister Cody,” the Gog said.

“Can’t speak for my men,” Cody said. “But I’ve been known to stir up trouble in my time.”

Ray felt that for all of Buffalo Bill’s tough talk, he hadn’t gathered nearly as many to join him as Ray had hoped. Conker whispered, “We ought to go.”

“Almost,” Ray said.

He watched as Mister Grevol waved a gloved hand. “I see,
old Joe Nelson, that you’ve decided to join us. You’ve eluded me for some time.”

“I plan on eluding you a bit longer,” Nel said. The old Rambler drew out a handful of powder. “My powers are returned, as you well know. Allow me to demonstrate.”

Nel scattered the powder into the air. A faint blue light glowed and then dissipated as it rose.

The moonlight snuffed out. A heavy sheet of clouds moved over the Expo grounds. Many of the agents turned their gazes up to the sky. A fierce wind rose, tossing bowler hats into the air. A few scampered to grab them, but most lifted their rifles, readying themselves.

Grevol began laughing. “Oh, is it parlor tricks, then, old Joe? I’m not one of your bumpkins watching your medicine show.”

Conker clasped a hand on Ray’s shoulder. “Let’s go.” He turned and stayed low until he was far enough from the edge to stand without notice. Ray and Jolie followed him until they reached Si. She had just finished tying off the rope to a brace of stout wood at the roof’s edge.

Rain began to fall. A few heavy drops, and then all at once a torrent unleashed, like the lake itself had been dropped onto Buffalo Bill’s coliseum. Nel had urged them to not leave until they were certain the Gog’s men would have their full attention turned to the confrontation. The storm was the first distraction. Nel was buying them time, toying with the Gog so they could escape.

“After you,” Si said to Ray as she handed him the rope.

Ray felt the rain streaking through his hair and running in cold rivulets down his back. He could fly. He could take crow
form. But it would exhaust him. Tonight he needed all his strength.

Grevol’s voice, along with Nel’s and Cody’s, carried through the whipping wind.

Ray looked cautiously over the edge. The elevated tracks bordered the coliseum. Through the ironwork of the tracks, Ray could see three of the Gog’s agents on the sidewalk below. Lightning erupted, and the men flipped up their collars as they continued their patrol.

Ray grabbed the rope, looped it once around his wrist, and leaned back over the edge. He eased down, feet against the wet wood of the coliseum’s exterior, and fed the rope through his hands. He stopped when he was level with the elevated track. Casting a glance down, he found the three agents hunched forward and cursing the foul storm to one another.

From around the side of the coliseum, Grevol’s voice carried. “… this is the last time I’ll ask. Give over the Nine Pound Hammer! Give over the Rambler’s charm! The pirates can rot, Mister Nelson. I only need you and your Rambler urchins.”

Ray kicked off the wall and swung out on the rope. When he was over the elevated track, he let go. He landed on the wooden crossties and crouched motionless, watching the agents for any sign that he had been heard. The three continued walking.

Ray pointed up to Si, and she handed the rope next to Jolie.

Ray dashed down the elevated track until the encampment came into view. Nel stood before the small cluster of pirates and Ramblers. Buffalo Bill was poised with his contingent at the back gates to the coliseum. The winds lashed, and rain beat against the earth of the yard.

The Gog cupped a hand to catch the falling rain. He laughed. “Who are you trying to frighten with your hoodoo chicanery, Mister Nelson? The earthworms?”

Nel drew out a twisted root from his toby. With a swipe, he directed the root at the Gog, and lightning flashed. The bolt drew down on Grevol, encompassing him in blinding light. The wall of agents shrank back as the thunderclap roared over the encampment. Even the pirates and Buffalo Bill’s men backed away at the explosion.

Grevol had fallen to one knee, his pristine suit smoking in the pouring rain. He stood. The glowing knob at the end of his walking stick crackled as it drew the last of the lightning within.

“Not bad.” The Gog took a step forward. “I would love to watch more, but it seems it is time to demonstrate what I have been working so hard to bring to fruition.”

Jolie reached Ray’s side and clutched his arm. Conker was helping Si to the elevated tracks. The three agents below were peering at the encampment, oblivious to what was happening above them.

Nel backed away as Grevol held up his walking stick.

“For years now, I have been gathering workers,” the Gog said. “Constructing the greatest achievement civilization has ever known. A creation that will shape mankind, will better it, will bring humanity beyond its primitive ways and into a modern era. Once my Machine fills the people of Chicago, and eventually all the citizens of this great nation, with their new purpose, we will see an end to poverty, an end to suffering and conflict. They will have collective purpose. They will fill this
land with towering cities and technology that our forebearers could never have dreamed.”

Grevol tipped his head to Nel. “I am pleased you are here to witness this, Mister Nelson. You and your kind. You are the last of a backward, superstitious breed. You would have mankind live as animals, wallowing in the forests and reeking of sweat and decay. But I am helping to elevate mankind beyond the savagery you Ramblers so desperately cling to. I’m fighting to bring mankind into a world of greatness and industry. The future citizens of this nation will celebrate my triumph.

“Oh, I’m so pleased, old Joe Nelson.” Grevol smiled. “Pleased you have lived long enough to see this historic day. Pleased you will witness the esteemed guests who sleep in our city tonight coming to fully embrace my vision for the future. Pleased you will join me as my Machine brings a new dawn for mankind.”

The Gog grasped both hands to the walking stick before him. A pulse of green light bloomed from the knob. The light filled the encampment, and with it the terrifying roar of engines rose. Ray covered his ears against the deafening screams of grinding gears and the howls of spinning turbines. He staggered as he realized that what he was hearing was coming from beyond the barriers of this world. Deep within the portion of the Gloaming corrupted by the Gog, the Machine had come to life.

The Gog’s walking stick dimmed.

The thunderous noises vanished.

The world became dark.

T
HE
D
ARKNESS WAS SILENT AND COLD
. R
AY COULD SEE
nothing, hear nothing. He reached to touch the track at his feet, fearing for a moment that even it might have vanished.

But then Jolie touched his arm. He grabbed her and pulled her tight so he wouldn’t lose her in the silent ocean of black.

Conker brushed against Ray and, fumbling a moment, found a grip on his shoulder before gasping, “I thought we lost you.”

Si whispered, “How will we ever—”

A solitary point of green light formed in the encampment. The knob on the Gog’s walking stick gleamed thinly. At first all Ray could see were the knob and the green light illuminating the Gog’s smiling face. But as Grevol began speaking, the knob grew brighter and brighter, casting its sickly green light across the agents massing behind him.

“Now it is over, Mister Nelson,” he said. “The people of Chicago, our visiting president, and other fine leaders are falling under the Darkness’s sway, as you all are by now. My clockwork sirens will be ready soon for any who resist this revolution. So embrace the future, Ramblers. Come with me.”

From the lashing rain, a flame rose. Fire, true and orange and lapping high in the air. Redfeather held up his flaming hand, and the bright light spilt over pirates around him. Nel said, “Your Darkness holds no sway over us, Gog!”

The pirates howled, clattering cudgels and blades against the barrels of their rifles. Nel drew a tin from his toby.

The Gog snarled and waved a hand. “Men!”

The wall of black-suited agents rushed forward. The Gog marched toward Nel. When he was only paces away, Nel cast out the tin, and a powder flew from it. A wall of blue flame erupted on the ground where it landed. Grevol’s suit was quickly encased in the odd fire.

The Gog waved his walking stick, and the flames whipped apart.

Nel held out his hands and the flames drew back to him, disappearing for a moment in his palms. He thrust his hands out, releasing the flames once more at the Gog.

The Pirate Queen’s men spread out as the agents drew closer. But before the agents reached them, figures suddenly emerged from the cabins and tents scattered over the encampment grounds. Among the agents were now cowboys firing pistols and Sioux and Comanche shooting rifles at close range and swinging clubs and hatchets.

The pirates shrieked a terrifying battle cry and rushed forward into the fray. The confusion seemed to linger only
a moment before the Gog’s agents reorganized, positioning themselves to face the charging pirates while fighting Buffalo Bill’s men in their midst.

Nel fought to drive Grevol back with the flames and other charms from his toby, but with his stick, the Gog batted away each assault.

“Mister Cody!” Nel shouted.

With the rain pooling in the brim of his hat, Buffalo Bill drew a saber from his belt and lifted it as a cavalryman leading a charge. Several from his contingent pulled open the massive gates at the back of the coliseum. Lantern light spilled out from the interior across the encampment. A line of horsemen galloped out—hussars and Cossacks beside vaqueros and Arabs. Horse hooves thundered against the muddy earth. Behind them raced Buffalo Bill’s army. Indian and Mexican fighters, cowboys and soldiers. Iron Tail fired a rifle as he led his men. The Rough Rider congress rushed into the battle beside the pirates.